The Harrowing Deep

by Miles A. Drake

  Ishcetus’ tentacles coiled, and propelled them both upwards into the open water. Gripping the reins with one hand and his glowing trident in the other, Cycladaean could not help but grin as the deepmare tore through the ethersea bubble surrounding Rúndhar.

  At the city’s edge, the ledge dropped off into the inky abyssal darkness, and beyond Cycladaean could make out hints of the opposing wall of the Black Trough, leagues away. Motes of light hung suspended in the water column. From the lures of fanged anglerfish to the bale-lights of their larger, more monstrous lampmouth kin, the entire ocean was a dizzying tapestry of shifting, blinking false stars. Cycladaean saw the vast, netlike forms of siphonophores undulate in the deep currents, while the titanic shapes of distant ghyrwhales silhouetted the dim light filtering in from above.

  Satisfied with his freedom, he slowly urged Ishcetus back down, to where a congregation of akhelian gathered before the fanged entrance of the Maw Court. A dozen fangmora riders were suspended not far above the city’s trench-avenues, while a pair of allopexes, each bearing a duo of akhelian huntresses circled, ever eager to be on the move. As Cycladaean joined them he was greeted by suspicious whispers and turned faces.

  Eventually, King Akhamar emerged from one of the towers above, riding resplendent atop a deepmare of his own. His beast’s scales were drab brown and deep red, much like those of the fangmoras. Such beasts were clearly creatures of the lightless deep, where such colouration acted as perfect camouflage.

  The hunters brandished their weapons in salute as the king pulled the reins of his deepmare, halting it just before Cycladaean’s mount.

  ‘I hope you enjoyed your gallivanting,’ Akhamar said dourly. ‘There will be no room for that once we begin the hunt.’

  ‘I did enjoy my gallivanting.’ Cycladaean gave a cold smile. ‘I think you mistake those of the Barricadius Reef to be soft-skinned sponge-farmers. But know that we hunt krakigon and megallopex just as you do…’

  Akhamar snorted. ‘The beasts of Ghyran are but tame infants compared to those of our seas.’

  ‘Says one who has never left Ghur,’ Cycladaean retorted. He knew full well there were some he could never make peace with.

  ‘Careful, outsider,’ Akhamar hissed. ‘The high queen may have wished for you to join this hunt… but you have no friends among us. With a favourable current, perhaps you shall die down there in the darkness, and rid us of your meddling ways…’

  With that, the akhelian king spurred his deepmare and accelerated up into the open water, calling his party to the hunt. Cycladaean wondered if Akhamar’s words were merely a morbid, idle hope, or a promised threat.

  ‘Wouldn’t that be convenient,’ he said to himself as he shrugged, squeezing Ishcetus’ flanks with his knees to follow the pack out into the gloom beyond the safety of Rúndhar.

  As they set off, they were joined by the massive form of a Ghurite leviadon, its knobby shell a dark, mottled grey, and its beaklike jaw befitted with bladed protrusions that almost resembled fangs. The bone howdah mounted atop its jagged, ridged shell bore a pair of akhelian hunters manning harpoon launchers, and a lone ma’harr at its prow, clutching the chains that would direct the beast. Standing at the stern of the howdah, another figure leaned on a staff headed by a searingly bright lantern that cast a halo of illumination for several hundred paces around the party. She was robed and cowled in black, and armoured in exaggerated, winglike pauldrons. The barely visible ethersea currents, resembling strands of disturbed water emanating around her, indicated her to be the expedition’s tidecaster.

  After exiting the ethersea bubble surrounding Rúndhar, the hunting party descended the gradual decline of the ledge that contoured the Black Trough. The fangmora riders fanned out in a scouting shoal pattern, and all was silent, save for the periodic alarm bells sounded by the forward allopex riders, warning of potential dangers along their path. While most of these dangers involved easily avoidable benthic predators – like swarms of spindly carcinarians, and their solitary, more gargantuan cousins, the bulky, spike-shelled carcinclaws – the occasional pelagic predator gave Cycladaean at least a hint of the thrill he had been anticipating. Even so, it wasn’t enough to stir him completely. The wild allopexes, demikrakens and wolf-gnarcuda packs the band evaded were certainly larger, more brutish and outwardly more intimidating than the predators of his home-sea, but Cycladaean couldn’t help but notice a lack of subtlety. While the Ghurite predators he had seen thus far easily outmatched the predators of the Barricadius Reef in size and ferocity, the hunting beasts of the colourful and shallow reefs his enclave made their home in more than compensated for such inadequacies by hiding more subtle weaponry amidst their garish colours and lithe forms. Here, in the Black Trough, there were no ambush predators, or scheming mimic creatures that would feign the appearance of something more benign, only to lash out with envenomed spines. Here, danger was far more blatant, and Cycladaean wondered if the Dhom-hain would ever even acknowledge that any other danger could exist.

  After an hour, the lights of a sizeable settlement came into view, and the hunting party passed what Cycladaean assumed was the Bryozoan Groves. Massive, shelflike table corals climbed up the cliffs, sporting latticed dwellings of twisting bone, and tangled forests of fanlike growths that Cycladaean assumed were the bryozoans the settlement took its name from. Groups of namarti moved amidst the groves, harvesting the flesh pieces from the ends of the frill-like growths, and Akhamar quickly questioned a local patrol of fangmora riders, though Cycladaean could not hear the exchange. Afterwards, the king did not deign to inform him if anything of value was learned.

  With Akhamar giving the signal to continue, the hunters set off again, eventually reaching the point where the shelf fell away entirely. As they approached the edge, Cycladaean almost balked at the black, seemingly endless void that waited beyond. The idoneth had long curbed their fear of the depths – that deep-seated dread felt when staring into the sea, unable to perceive what horrors might be contained within its seemingly endless gloom – but perhaps, for an idoneth used to the comparative shallows, a small sliver of that fear still remained.

  The hulking shape of the leviadon drifted beneath Cycladaean, coming to a halt just below where he and Ishcetus were suspended in the darkness.

  ‘Afraid?’ the black-robed tidecaster called up from below. Her voice bore no taunt, curiously.

  Cycladaean shrugged, glancing down at the isharann, guiding Ishcetus to keep pace with the leviadon. ‘The echo of a long-forgotten fear, perhaps… I suppose I was more confused by its presence than I was vexed by its passing…’

  ‘Philosophical,’ she muttered. ‘Even down here, in the darkness.’

  ‘It is precisely in the dark that the light of clarity must shine.’ Cycladaean gave a thin smile, pleased to finally speak to someone.

  ‘The light of clarity,’ she scoffed. ‘You speak of cythai philosophies. You know that such light would have burnt us to ash had we not fled into the darkness?’

  ‘Perhaps…’ Cycladaean admitted. ‘But we do not know if that was Teclis’ intent. Our ancestors fled because they saw the corruption within themselves, and feared Teclis would burn them away for it. Whether our creator truly desired that… none save he can know. But I choose to believe that if we prove we have fought to conquer our flaws, he will allow us to return to his light once again.’

  ‘And what flaws must we conquer, oh exiled philosopher prince? I daresay the plague of the unsouled is well beyond our capacity to heal.’ Even if her words were phrased like a taunt, Cycladaean sensed she wished to hear his answer. The taunt was for her own sake, meant for the ears of any that might be eavesdropping.

  He decided to humour her. ‘Perhaps that woe lies beyond our reach. But there are others that are well within our grasp to conquer and heal. Fear,’ he said with a certain finality. ‘We fled into isolation, both from the realms and from our own souls. We fear ourselves, and so
we deprive ourselves of all impulse and life to focus on the eternal battle of mere survival. It is a defence mechanism, of course, and a pragmatic approach to that which vexes us. But what would our cythai ancestors think of the muted, dead things we have chosen to become?’

  The tidecaster did not immediately respond. ‘A deviant philosophy, to be sure. I wonder how many within the court share our high queen’s curiosity towards it? Towards you, outsider…’ Again, Cycladaean suspected she veiled her intent behind intonations of disapproval.

  He chuckled. The tidecaster’s words were true. While the high queen had at least entertained his pleas for her to rejoin the assembrals and reforge contact with the Ionrach, much of the rest of the court was opposed to the notion. There were old wounds between the Dhom-hain and Ionrach that would not easily heal. But he decided to play aloof.

  ‘Well, that would explain why most of the court stares daggers at me.’

  ‘Those daggers might not always remain proverbial,’ she warned. She turned away and said no more.

  Pulling at Ishcetus’ reins, Cycladaean slowed, drifting behind the leviadon as he pondered this new development. Glancing at Akhamar at the head of the hunting party, he watched the king converse with his morrsarr guard retainers. When one of them looked back towards him, it took considerable effort not to indulge in the paranoia that there was more to this hunt than he’d expected.

  Cycladaean’s lips tightened. The Dhom-hain were so very unsubtle. Even so, whether he believed the tidecaster’s warning or not, he rode on, now aware that Akhamar’s animosity might extend beyond normal rivalry.

  As the hunters descended over the course of several hours, the light dimmed, fading from a barely perceptible twilight gloom to an impenetrable aphotic darkness. The knowledge that this was a place that had never known – and would never know – the mere concept of light made him queasy. The immensity of the darkness pushed at Cycladaean, and he saw the tidecaster locked deep in a trance, her sorcery keeping the ethersea bubble around the hunters intact, even against the immense pressure of the abyss.

  Deeper down, the silence became ever more oppressive, and the intermittent howls seemed to draw ever nearer. The party’s bond-beasts shuddered at the sound, their animal instincts shifting to fear each time the eerie call tore through the darkness. Passing another pair of smaller colonies, they continued following the chain of bells further out until eventually, the howls stopped and the remnants of a larger colony came into view, illuminated beneath the leviadon’s lantern.

  Cycladaean shivered as the carnage wrought upon the settlement became apparent. The colony had been obliterated, its makeshift dwellings and brimstone chimneys torn asunder, as though smashed by the force of a pyroclastic flow. Piles of shattered debris were scattered around dozens of collapsed chimneys. The acrid, boiling fluid billowed up like smoke from the wreckage, sparse around the edges of the settlement, but denser to the point of being impossible to see through near the centre. It rippled eerily as it entered the invisible ethersea bubble surrounding the hunters. Within the pall, Cycladaean saw the vague shapes of three massive chimneys that had survived the carnage.

  Most disturbing of all was the tattered remnants of organic refuse, the mangled pieces of corpses scattered about to make a macabre feast for wriggling masses of hagfish.

  ‘Blood of Mathlann…’ Akhamar growled from atop his deepmare, his hand gripped, white-knuckled, around the haft of his glaive.

  ‘What did this?’ another akhelian hissed.

  As Cycladaean circled the settlement, he saw that it was built along the edge of another drop-off, where the seabed oozed over a ledge into an even deeper darkness.

  ‘Ighruín’s Bight,’ the tidecaster called. ‘The edge of the Halosheen Void, where it draws nearest to the Black Trough.’

  ‘Morrsarr, dismount!’ Akhamar called. ‘Sift through this mess and see if you can find anything.’

  The allopexes continued to circle, keeping vigilant while Akhamar and a few of his akhelian remained mounted, surveying the ruin from above.

  Seeking a better look, Cycladaean dismounted, taking hold of Ishcetus’ reins as he moved through the remnants of an old dwelling, scattering the swarms of hagfish that writhed across a dismembered namarti. Grimacing, he followed the trail of carnage, noting how the pale murk underfoot had been gouged by some manner of thrashing, clawed mass. Whatever this beast was, its tracks indicated that it moved by dragging itself along, rather than truly walking. Other akhelian discovered similar tracks, and fanned out to investigate, while Cycladaean moved towards the smoking mess of fissures and collapsed chimneys at the centre of the colony.

  The tidecaster suddenly appeared alongside him. She’d dismounted, leaving her beast and retinue drifting above.

  ‘Do your outsider eyes see clues ours do not?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Cycladaean admitted, gripping his trident firmly. ‘The waters I hail from do not run so deep… And the Motlynians rarely venture deeper than they must.’

  The isharann followed him as he approached the mess of debris and billowing smoke. ‘Deep questors we may be, but there are places that even our hunters dare not go. We stake a fleeting claim along the edge of the abyss, but the vast expanses beyond our meagre foothold are as unexplored as they are to any enclave.’

  Cycladaean nodded in understanding. ‘There are places no light can ever illuminate… shrouded for all eternity from Hysh.’

  The pair of akhelian nearest to them were a few dozen paces ahead, prodding at the edge of the smoke. Cycladaean could overhear them arguing about where the beast might have gone, and decided to make use of their momentary seclusion.

  ‘I should point out that you have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I know very little of you. I know not even your name.’

  Her features remained impassive, obscured beneath her cowl. ‘Call me Saranyss. Attendant of the high queen.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘And why would an attendant of the high queen seek to aid me?’

  Saranyss gave a thin smile. ‘Times are changing. The lone allopex is devoured by the krakigon, but a pack of allopex can tear the krakigon to pieces.’ She paused. ‘There are those in the court that agree with your sentiment. That you are the first outsider permitted to live among us in so long is an opportunity…’

  Cycladaean raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Few of our enclave leave our waters,’ she continued. ‘Fewer still leave Ghur. But I am one that has. I have travelled the whirlways. I have visited Príom and I too have learned the ways of the Ionrach.’

  Cycladaean nodded in understanding. ‘So it all aligns…’

  ‘I might not share your sentiment about redemption… Teclis abandoned us, after all, and so we choose to remain godless. But perhaps your methods might yield more… pragmatic benefits. Reconnecting the enclaves has its merits.’

  Cycladaean was about to comment that he did not expect her, nor many other idoneth to agree with his deviant views, but his words trailed off as he noticed something amiss.

  The scrabbling, thrashing tracks of the beast led into the colossal pile of smouldering debris. Ahead, the akhelian kept their distance from the giant, obscured smoke chimneys, steering clear of the boiling fumes as they continued their discussion.

  Cycladaean narrowed his eyes as his heart began to beat faster. The tracks did not lead out of the debris.

  ‘The currents…’ Saranyss said suddenly. ‘Something–’

  A ripple of water disturbed the smoke, and something writhed within the brimstone haze. Something massive.

  Cycladaean realised the beast had never left the ruin.

  It was right in their midst, waiting for them.

  He cried out in alarm, just as a serpentine tentacle ending in a mandibled lamprey maw slithered out from the smoke and grasped one of the akhelian. The serrated fangs of its circular mouth latched onto the wa
rrior even as the four bladed mandibles pierced through the gaps in his armour. Blood haloed around him for a brief instant as his scream gurgled into silence.

  And then he was gone, wrenched back into the boiling haze just as another maw erupted from the roiling smoke to grab the second, retreating akhelian. Alarm calls went up, and harpoons scythed down into the smoke from above. But it was too late: the second akhelian vanished as swiftly and as brutally as the first.

  Cycladaean was well on his way to mounting Ishcetus when a gigantic, serpentine shape emerged from the boiling smoke. Five heads, mandibled, jawless and eyeless, and a razor-pronged, finned tail extended from a slimy body befitted with raking claw-fins. Its hide was a mottled red, almost black in the wan light. Cycladaean had seen etchings of such a beast before, within the ancient, long-lost ruins that dotted the lower Barricadius Reef of his younger years.

  ‘Kharibdyss!’ he roared as the beast towered overhead, its size easily matching that of a krakigon.

  Several of its heads howled, drowning out everything else. The beast lurched forward, its fins carving deep gouges into the tortured, fissured seabed, tearing up plumes of boiling black smoke that wreathed its form as it clawed forward.

  He saw Saranyss below, dazed by the approaching horror. She had nowhere to run, and so he dipped down, fighting Ishcetus’ animal flight instinct to extend a hand to the tidecaster, which she eagerly took. Hoisting her up onto his saddle before him just as the deepmare made a hard vertical ascent, they narrowly avoided the thrashing, monstrous mass that barrelled towards them.

  Rearing up onto a shattered chimney, the kharibdyss’ primary head lashed out. It was larger than the others, and sported a loose lower jaw that resembled a fanged tongue. Ishcetus dodged, and while the maw missed, one mandible raked a deep crimson gouge into the deepmare’s flank, narrowly missing Cycladaean’s leg.

  Cycladaean had no angle to retaliate on his own, but Ishcetus responded in kind, lashing out with a taloned forelimb to carve deep slashes into the beast’s throat. Black blood gouted from the wound as the shrieking maw retreated.